


Bitter End

by Vampedvixen



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampedvixen/pseuds/Vampedvixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galavant made it home after trying to rescue Madalena from her wedding a little worse for the wear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter End

Galavant slammed the door behind him as he crossed the threshold of his cottage. He reached for the bottle of grog as soon as he could, ripping open the top and drank heartily from the bottle. His pockets were empty of coins after passing through the few villages that lay between King Richard's castle and his own humble abode.

Rumors were already passing through the kingdom that he'd been denied by his lady love. He was no longer her hero and soon would mean nothing much to the kingdom-- which meant he was actually going to have to buy his own drinks from now on and didn't that just suck.

He'd spent almost a whole day sober by now after running out of copper pieces. And that was far too long. After waking up outside the castle walls, face first in a fresh pile of dung and mud, it took him some time to adjust to this new life but he had come to one conclusion by now: he definitely did not by any means want to live it sober. Sober led to thinking, which led to feelings which his father was right about all along.

He swallowed some more, letting forth a small burp. That was what normal humans did, wasn't it-- they burped and farted and screw it, that was what he was going to do now that he wasn't a hero anymore. He moaned and fell across his bed, resigned to being completely average now. Maybe he'd gain weight and start getting a reputation as the town drunkard. What the hell-- it seemed like a plan!

His eyes were closed as he heard the stupid animal pushing the door open-- it oinked and snorted. That damn pig. If it weren't for that pig that Madalen-- no, he was not going to say her name. He was never even going to think in her direction again, but yes, if it weren't for that damn pig that SHE had wanted so badly none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have been distracted when King Richard appeared and would definitely not had let his guard down-- oh, he was going to enjoy turning that thing into bacon strips. He'd fry it up with a little bit of grease and maybe some eggs if he could manage to convince Sid to cook for him. Even if he was going to be normal and average these days, he was still not going to lower himself to cooking his own meals. He would still keep that squire around for those annoying little chores.

The piglet had inched itself closer to the bed, sniffing the whole way there. Galavant rolled over on his mattress-- the same mattress he'd shared with... She Who Would Not Be Named. He watched as the little white and black thing nosed its way towards him. It still had the bow wrapped around it's neck, looking ever still like a cute little present for his one true love. They were going to raise it together, a pet for the family that they would have built together.

As it came closer, he untied the bow from its neck and let the ribbon fall unceremoniously to the floor. It sniffed his hand and Galavant frowned. It was definitely not supposed to end like this-- but there they were, just him and this mobile piece of bacon. “You're going to fry up nice and juicy--”

Suddenly, Sid came rushing through the door, looking like he had lost something. “Penelope! Oh, there you are!” It was only then that the squire realized Galavant was back home. He stopped in his tracks and bowed slightly, before rushing forward again and scooping up the piglet. “I'm sorry, sir. Penelope here got out of her pen when I was mucking it out. Didn't you girl?”

“Penelope?” Galavant sighed. He'd named the damn thing. There went his meal. Sid would never let him hear the end of it now if they killed his new pet.

“Well, Penelope or Philip.” Sid paused, deep in thought. “I named him before I realized it was a him.”

“And here I was calling it Bacon.”

Sid frowned. “You were the one who said we were keeping it. I wasn't going to name it but then you insisted that I feed it until you returned with Madalen--”

“Don't say her name!” Galavant closed his eyes and laid back on his bed again. Why was it that every time he heard that name-- if he even thought the name, it felt like there was a knife physically plunging into his heart again and again? Maybe he was just having a heart attack. It was definitely time to give up the hero gig if that was the case. And maybe he'd go down to the town doctor and have them examine him, maybe he could be cured with a simple leech remedy or exorcism of the demons that were obviously causing this malady. “Just... don't. Ever.”

“It went that well, huh?” Sid ushered the pig out the door, then turned back to Galavant with a sigh. “I had a feeling it wouldn't go well. She could be sort of a--”

Galavant glared at his squire. If the boy wanted to keep his job he would do well to keep his mouth shut. Sid and Madalena had never quite got along before. The boy had accidentally shared his feelings on Galavant's love a few times before, but this was certain not the time for 'I told you so's.

“Nevermind.” Sid smiled sheepishly, letting an embarrassed chuckle out. “Nevermind. Nothing at all. So sorry. Is there anything you need, sir?”

Galavant turned the bottle of grog upside down, shaking it and watched as no more mind-numbing liquid escaped. That was definitely going to have to be remedied if he was going to get any rest tonight, and oh, how he wanted to just sleep for the next few days. Maybe when he woke up it would all be some horrible nightmare. “Fetch me some more grog from the market. Several bottles. I'll repay you when I give you your monthly allowance.”

Sid straightened up, looking a little more annoyed at the prospect of having to spend his own money to buy his master more liquor. Nevertheless, he began to leave but not before turning around to Galavant once more and attempting some kind of pep talk. “Sir, I know you're feeling like you lost something really important--”

“Sid,” Galavant groaned and pulled his pillow over his face. This was definitely not what he needed right now. He was supposed to be the one with the words of heroism and wisdom, not his younger squire who was still fresh and new to the world. It was only a few months prior that he'd hired him straight from Sid's home village where he lived with his parents. How the hell did this kid know what it felt like to have his still beating heart ripped from his chest and slammed to the floor and set on fire and then danced on and then--

“But, sir, just know that I'm here for you. Whatever you need.” Sid inclined his head and then jutted his finger towards the door. “Me and Penelope.” He thought on this and then added, “Or Philip.”

Galavant meant to mutter something that sounded like a thank you, but it came out more in a demanding, “Go buy me some booze already! I'm sobering up again, for godsake.”

The boy left, shutting the door behind him and once more Galavant was alone. His head was swimming from the half bottle of grog he'd downed in the previous few minutes. He'd never really been much of a drinker, but there was time to change that now. He had all the time in the world now that the one thing he had been living for was gone now. Time seemed to stretch out infinitely, its emptiness taunting him. What the hell was he going to do with all this time on his hands now that she was no longer lighting up his world with her smile?

He pushed himself up to a seated position, leaning against the headboard of the bed. At least he still had his squire and the boy seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, his love of detailed figurines aside. On that ride home from King Richard's castle, Galavant had wanted to give up so many times. He was just going to keep riding until his horse quit under him and he was a thousand miles from home. Or maybe he could have tossed himself over some very steep cliff in some dramatic fashion, certainly there were poets who wrote ballads about the brokenhearted who'd succumbed to their pain in such a way. If he couldn't be remembered as a true hero then they could write odes on his tragic ending.

Something had propelled him forward though, dragging him back home whether he wanted to go on living or not. There was certainly nothing more for him in his life now, but he would at least be content with continuing on the endless march day after day now. He had his squire to look after now anyway and as much booze as his stomach could handle, and-- he noted as he heard an oink from behind the door-- a pig.

Life was stupid and pointless and little remained now that the only happiness he would ever know had been ripped from him-- but he would go on anyway.

And if it still sucked, well, perhaps he could interest Sid in some bacon after all.

.End.


End file.
